


A Small Slice of Forever

by GaysInABentley



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Dates, Aziraphale Takes The Lead For Once, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, My First Fanfic, Nightmares, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Boys, but he's an idiot, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-29 18:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaysInABentley/pseuds/GaysInABentley
Summary: Chapter One: A few weeks after the events of The Apocalypse That Didn't Happen, Crowley calls Aziraphale to tell him that there is something he needs to see in Tadfield. Of course, our angel obliges and finds himself somewhere he doesn't expect, having a conversation he'd been putting off for centuries.Chapter Two: Crowley and Aziraphale go to the opera. They share something that makes Aziraphale sure of how he feels.Chapter Three: Crowley and Aziraphale have spent way too much time around each other for Crowley to be able to hide anything. He still tries.Chapter Four: Aziraphale admits to some inexperience. Crowley catches him up in style.Chapter Five: Crowley experiences possible consequences of his actions, and doesn't receive the comfort he needs.Chapter Six: Damn the torpedoes!





	1. You're My Best Friend

Aziraphale sat in his newly-restored bookshop, reading a first-edition copy of Jack London’s _The Call of the Wild._ It was a story that had fascinated him since the year it was written. The notion of a creature’s nature being immutable and inevitable both thrilled and terrified him. He had just gotten up for a cocoa refill when his phone rang. It was a wile, of course. And when he saw a wile, he thwarted.

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“There’s something in Tadfield that you need to see.”

“Is it something… dangerous?”

“No, but it’s important. I’ll be there to pick you up in ten minutes.”

With that, the demon hung up. Aziraphale stared at his phone, bemused. Crowley hadn’t been that short with him in weeks. Following the averted Apocalypse (and their own dodged “retirements”), he had been nothing shy of friendly. Something serious had to be going on in Tadfield. Aziraphale put aside his mug and straightened his bowtie, mentally preparing himself for a ride in the Bentley with a demon at the helm.

When Crowley pulled up, he had the windows down and was raucously singing along to Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls,” winking salaciously at passers-by fitting the description. He drummed on the steering wheel to the beat as Aziraphale slid into the car beside him. The angel had time to think that this was hardly a way to start a serious mission to see something “important” before Crowley floored it and his mind was overtaken with thoughts mostly dedicated to self-preservation.

Once they got out of the city, he was able to calm down enough to enjoy the view— and a bit of the entertainment. The song had changed to “You’re My Best Friend,” which had always been one of his favorites of Crowley’s usual rotation. The demon had removed his sunglasses, and was (consciously or unconsciously) performing a decent imitation of Freddie Mercury. Crowley caught him looking and began to sing directly to him, making the angel laugh and quickly look away, a blush creeping into his face. As they approached Tadfield, however, Crowley began to quiet down. He had a pensive look on his face, and his eyes kept straying to the passenger side of the vehicle.

They pulled into a gravel drive that looked all but abandoned. Grass grew in patches between the wheel-tracks, and potholes threatened to make their ride somewhat uncomfortable until Crowley snapped them away. Aziraphale looked sternly at him, and the demon shrugged.

“Can’t perform my dastardly mission on earth if my car’s all scraped up, can I? Besides, my lot are more… forgiving… about frivolous miracles.” The drive took a turn through a stand of trees, and opened into a parking lot next to a large pond surrounded by woodlands. Not another car or human was in sight.

“Crowley… If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is it that you’ve brought us all the way out here to see?”

“You’ll find out, Angel. I need to get something out of the back. One moment.”

Aziraphale looked curiously around the backside of the car after he had gotten out and saw his friend emerging with a black wicker basket about the size of a microwave oven.

“No, it’s not another Antichrist, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just supplies. We’ll need them. Follow me.” Crowley’s voice had taken on that clipped, terse tone again, and Aziraphale didn’t like where this was going. Nonetheless, he followed where the demon led, up to a hill overlooking the pond. Crowley, his face still set in a stony neutral position, opened the basket and removed the contents. Wine, sandwiches, a soft blanket, and what looked to be devil’s-food cake had all managed to fit inside.

“A… picnic? These were the ‘supplies’ we needed for this important thing I had to see?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, not entirely displeased with the thought.

“Yes. It’s important that you see… this.” Crowley gestured in the direction of the pond, then continued setting out the food and drink.

“My dear… you could have just asked me to go on a picnic with you. I do enjoy food. And your company. And enjoying both in God’s creation is a splendid idea!”

Crowley made a face not unlike that of a small child who has tasted a lemon for the first time. “It’s not just that…. And keep Her out of this. I wanted to tell you something. Sit down.” Aziraphale did as he was bade, curiously examining a sandwich.

“Did you _make_ these?”

“Yes, now _listen.”_ Crowley still hadn’t put his sunglasses back on, and his eyes took on a rabid intensity that made Aziraphale put the sandwich back on the plate. He spoke haltingly, as if every word burned him on the way out. “You took pity on me—a creature who never wanted or asked for it. You showed me friendship, and made me wonder why on Earth I fell in the first place. I didn’t mean to. And I wish I hadn’t because then we’d have been on the same side from the beginning.” Crowley looked at the wine, then thought better of it.

“Aziraphale… _Angel…_ I love you.” Crowley quickly shifted his gaze to the water, not quite wanting to see whatever reaction Aziraphale’s face would hold. The angel was silent for a moment, and Crowley began to fear the worst. He had to look at his angel’s face, even if what he saw there destroyed him. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“The prison,” Aziraphale said simply, and without obvious emotion. “I’ve known since the Reign of Terror. I’ve had all those years to think about it, and I’ve never quite known what to do. I was hoping I could… put it off.” He trailed off almost apologetically. They were both staring out across the pond in Tadsfield now.

Crowley had lost the hitch in his voice, and began to build up steam, as if his courage could only hold given relentless persistence. “But I’ve loved you since the Beginning, Zira. Since you first sheltered me under your wing. And I loved you right up to what we thought was the End. Please…”

“Please _what?_ What do you expect this admission to change? I am still an angel, my dear.”

Crowley heard the unspoken second part of what the angel said just as well as he heard the first. “ _And you’re still a demon.”_ He felt the fury of Hell choke his throat, but it didn’t feel cold and calculating as it usually did when a human pissed him off, or when one of his plants began to wilt. This felt like molten metal shooting from his chest into his hands and mouth, hardening as it burned. He turned his eyes back to the face of the principality he had just opened his soul (or whatever passed for it) to and was shocked to see a tear making its way down Aziraphale’s cheek.

The demon’s anger froze just as quickly as it had caught aflame. Had he made Aziraphale _cry_? He was still looking out to where the trees met the waterline of the pond, and didn’t seem to notice Crowley’s shift in mood or focus—but that damning tear was still there.

“Angel… what’s wrong?”

“I can’t, Crowley. I can no more run away from my duties to Heaven than you can from yours to Hell.”

“I’m not asking you to run away from your duty, Aziraphale! And what duties do we even _have,_ now that it’s all… finished?” Crowley gestured vaguely and pulled a face in a way that Aziraphale would have found humorous and endearing in other circumstances. “Let me guess… your duties are ‘ineffable.’ Well, let me tell you something about the Plan. It is going to happen as it was meant to happen whether we want it to or not. We may have stopped The Big One for now, but—”

Aziraphale suddenly turned to him, eyes wide and brimming with more tears. “That’s exactly it! Nowhere have I ever heard of an angel’s duty being to ride around in a car that’s going way too fast, or get incredibly drunk, or fall in love—”

“Fall in love, eh?” Crowley tried to make his voice sound light and teasing, but it had the bitter edge of someone who knew he was about to be rejected.

“That’s not the _point,_ Crowley. Please just listen. We’re not human. We may play our games of pretend, and keep to our Arrangement, but we are not of this world.”

“We fought to protect it. Together.” Crowley hadn’t been this serious for this long since the first Good Friday, but he was determined to make his angel understand. “We can enjoy it together, too. Without having to hide, now that we’ve scared our respective offices off. And I want to enjoy it as _yours._ ”

For a demon, Crowley was being very straightforward. For an angel, Aziraphale was quite unsure of himself. The angel looked into his best friend’s golden eyes for a moment, then spoke. “I’ve never…”

“Never what? Had a demon ask you out?” Crowley did his best to lift the tension that had settled over them. This wasn’t the kind of tension he liked. The tears on Aziraphale’s face were drying, but the demon would always remember what they looked like, and pray (in a manner of speaking) that he would never see them again. Hesitantly, Crowley reached across the picnic basket to brush the last one from his friend’s cheek. The angel did not turn away or fuss about it, but the uncertainty persisted in his eyes. 

“It doesn’t have to be forever right now, you know. We could start by… I don’t know… going on a date?” It came out as a question, and Crowley winced inwardly at how juvenile he sounded to his own ears. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop once he had started. “You could even consider this a date, honestly. Beautiful pond, lovely food, just the two of us…” Another internal cringe.

“You really want to… date me?”

Crowley thought about this for a moment. Had he not been loving, courting, and occasionally saving his angel for 6,000 years? What he had really wanted from this conversation was something a little more serious, were he to admit it to himself. But Aziraphale had always needed acclimating to new situations, and there was a certain charm in the idea.

“Zira, nothing would make me happier. I know it’s a silly human tradition, and I don’t know why they don’t just get on with the sinning straight away, but if that’s what you want— I’ll do it. Let’s try another human experience together, just you and me. It’ll be like crepes.” With that, Crowley had said his piece. He was too emotionally exhausted to say anything more. The sharing of feelings had never come easily to him, even before he had fallen. Even if the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable length, he didn’t think he could have broken it.

Thankfully, it didn’t. Aziraphale moved the black picnic basket aside and scooted closer to his friend, capturing his eyes once again. The uncertainty that had hardened the lines in his soft face was now replaced with fondness. The sun shone in his fair hair, and Crowley was hard-put not to start babbling again at the sight of his angel smiling.

“I don’t know what the future holds anymore. So why shouldn’t we do what we want, now that we’re all going off-script? And we’ve only had a small slice of forever—lots of mountains left to climb…”

Crowley snickered at that, and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale, pulling him a little closer. The tips of the angel’s ears instantly turned scarlet, and an embarrassed giggle escaped him.

“So you’ve convinced yourself?” Crowley asked teasingly.

Aziraphale recovered enough of his presence of mind to quip back. “As always, you’ve almost made me believe that this was all my own idea, you wily old serpent.”

They sat on that hill for the rest of the evening, enjoying the sandwiches, the sun, and, eventually, the stars.


	2. A Night At the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CaptainEtienneNavarre for the suggestion for this chapter! Crowley accompanies Aziraphale to the opera, and finds more enjoyment in it than he imagined he would. Aziraphale works up the courage to be more proactive.

_This can’t be happening,_ Crowley thought. _This is definitely_ not _happening._

Crowley had always considered himself a demon of sophisticated tastes. He had influenced Shakespeare’s career, after all, and his nose for a good wine was (though not quite as good as Aziraphale’s) dead-on. However, the one highbrow activity he had never been able to stomach was going to the opera. Ever since some idiot had written _Dafne_ in 1597, Crowley had avoided operahouses (and opera singers) like the plague. It wasn’t that he disliked the music, of course. It was the acting. Always the same flinging about of limbs, distorted facial expressions, and general stuffiness. Something about having to sing an aria and act like a human being at the same time seemed to escape most singers’ grasps, and Crowley wanted none of it.

But when Aziraphale had asked if he would be interested in accompanying him to _Dialogues of the Carmelites,_ an opera that he had apparently desperately wanted to see since its premier in 1956, he couldn’t say no. For some bloody reason, the angel had convinced him without even having to try. At the time, he had thought that he could bear it, if only to see his angel having a good time. Now, however, sitting in a crowded theatre surrounded by humans who thought that being there made them better than the average idiot on the street, Crowley was regretting his decision. The show had yet to begin, and he was already considering possible exit strategies.

Aziraphale looked like a man caught up in a wonderful dream as he gazed around the theatre. There were golden cherubs included in the decorations on the proscenium arch, and he nudged Crowley to get his attention. He expected him to chuckle at the lack of likeness between him and the winged babies near the ceiling, but the demon only shrugged uncomfortably.

“My dear… Are you quite all right?” Aziraphale asked gently.

“Yeah, yeah. Stomachache.”

“We don’t… get stomachaches. I thought, anyway.” An audience member looked over curiously as Aziraphale said this, and he brought his voice down to a whisper, leaning close to Crowley’s ear to keep from being overheard. “The setting reminds me of you, you know. That’s why I wanted to see it in the first place. France, 1794… the Reign of Terror. The Revolution.” He chuckled a little sadly, remembering the lives that had been lost, but recalling how his golden-eyed friend had saved him from being very inconveniently and painfully discorporated. That such a frightening event had held a moment like that gave him hope. “These characters hold to their belief in a better, kinder world through to the very end. Some would say it’s a belief in God and The Plan, but I believe it’s really about their bond as friends. One is always running from an inevitable fate. She—”

“Zira. I thought you said you hadn’t seen this.” Crowley cut the angel off, though he had been enjoying the feeling of Aziraphale’s breath against his ear.

“I haven’t. But did you really think I didn’t own a copy of the libretto?” He was continuing to whisper, though their conversation no longer needed to be private.

“What’s a ‘libretto’?”

“The words, Crowley! The script. Now hush. I do believe the show is about to start. You know French, don’t you?”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to place his mouth close to his friend’s ear and whisper. “ _Oui, mon amour.”_ He was rewarded with a small giggle from his angel as the lights went down in the house, and he began to think that maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea. The two hadn’t spoken about or acted on the feelings he had confessed since the picnic on the hill, and after a week or so of not quite knowing what to do, he had decided that he was going to take the lead. It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t return his affection, he had thought to himself. It was just that he didn’t quite know how to go about expressing it without turning into a pile of embarrassed feathers. That was his hope, anyway. The not knowing was almost exciting, but Crowley was determined to find out.

Though the subject matter of _Dialogues of the Carmelites_ was very religious, Crowley found himself drawn into the story. At the end, when the guillotine took the lives of every member of the Carmelite order one by one, he instinctively reached his hand out to his angel. Aziraphale took it, and hard. The song the women sang grew smaller with each moment until only one voice remained. Then, silence. The angel and the demon sat side by side, holding hands and being moved together by something very, very human.

They exited the theatre remaining hand-in-hand, and silent. When they reached the Bentley, Crowley opened the passenger-side door for his friend, kissing his hand before letting it go to walk around to the driver’s side. He turned off the radio, still silent as they drove toward Aziraphale’s bookshop. Eventually, he removed his sunglasses and spoke.

“Angel, that was beautiful. Thank you for getting me to see that with you.”

Aziraphale turned toward him from where he had been looking out the window, watching the city pass by slower than usual. Crowley seemed to be going the speed limit, for once. “My friend, the pleasure was all mine. Thank _you_ for giving it a chance. Would you…” he seemed to be having trouble finishing the question. Crowley waited patiently. He had found that the best way to get someone to say what they were really thinking was to simply remain quiet and let them come out with it in their own time.

“Would you perhaps be interested in coming inside once we reach my shop?” His voice had taken on a falsely casual tone that would have been hilarious to Crowley under any other circumstance. “Maybe you’d like to see what a libretto is?”

_“I would indeed be interested in coming inside, my dear Aziraphale. I’m sure you could teach me a lot,”_ was what the demon wanted to say in an indulgently flirtatious tone. However, he found that he couldn’t get the words to come out that way. Something in his ironclad resolve to make something happen had given way. What he managed to say was this:

“Uh… yeah.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles lost what little color they had. _Bollocks,_ he thought. _This angelic bastard has me sounding about as eloquent as one of my houseplants._ He was the serpent who had tempted the first humans alive, for Lucifer’s sake. Surely he could do better than that. He cleared his throat and bravely tried again. “I would love to stop by. Got any scotch?”

“Of course! When you reminded me that should the Apocalypse happen, there wouldn’t be any more, I stocked up… just in case.”

They pulled into a parking space just outside of the shop, and had a brief awkward exchange at the door when both attempted to hold it open for the other.

“It’s my shop, my dear. Allow me to invite you inside courteously.” Crowley chuckled and walked through the door, snapping his fingers to turn on the lights.

“Your logic is impeccable as always, Angel. Now where’s that scotch? Back cupboard, innit?” He turned around looking for a confirmation to find Aziraphale standing very, very close to him. Their chests almost touched as he turned, and Crowley took in a quick breath in surprise.

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale’s voice had dropped in pitch, and Crowley felt a warmth begin to flare in his lower stomach. He felt a need to hurry his angel along, but remembered to give him time to figure out what he needed to say. Neither had stepped back, though they were much, much closer than their usual boundaries permitted. Both demon and angel were held there by a mutual feeling that if one of them moved, the moment would pass forever and they would never talk about it.

Aziraphale refrained from speaking for a moment longer. He instead looked Crowley up and down, slowly. Taking in the well-fitting suit he had worn for the special occasion, the waves of hair that just touched the tops of his ears in a way that begged him to brush them back, and the eyes that his demon friend had left uncovered more and more often when they were together. He wanted to memorize the sight just in case what he wanted to do next sent Crowley scurrying off to God knew what star system.

One of the angel’s hands reached out and settled around Crowley’s waist, gently bidding him forward until they were touching, feeling the air between them grow almost alarmingly heavy. Crowley suddenly felt unsure of what to do with his face, now that it was so close to the angel’s. Should he smile? Laugh? He was relieved of this burdensome decision when Aziraphale put his other hand under his chin and drew him into a soft kiss. Suddenly, 6,000 years of wanting and waiting exploded through his mind, and he wrapped his arms around the angel he had loved since the beginning, hardly daring to breathe. He could have kissed back ferociously, but the moment seemed too fragile, too _important_ for that. Aziraphale drew back slightly, and brought a shaking hand up from the demon’s chin to stroke the auburn hair that he had wanted to touch all night. It was almost _unfairly_ soft.

“Angel…” the motion of Aziraphale’s hand sent waves of staticky pleasure racing down the demon’s body, and the word came out as a breathy whisper. The hand around his waist trembled slightly, and that brought him back to reality. Crowley opened his eyes to see that his angel’s were still closed, and his brow was furrowed.

“I haven’t known how to… proceed. Especially since I acted like such a fool when you first told me. I needed to see for myself that this could be real. This could be doable.” His hands steadied. “And it is.” Aziraphale’s eyes were still closed, but his face had smoothed. He opened them, finally, and Crowley saw a depth of feeling in them that nearly made his knees give out. “I want you to know that I’ve loved you for a very long time. I never did say it back to you. I’m sorry.”

Crowley felt himself disconnect from the moment slightly, hardly able to believe that he hadn’t had to convince, cajole, or tempt someone into loving him for once. The angel’s hand had come to rest on the back of his neck, and soft heat radiated out from it and every other point of contact between them to fill his entire being with something foreign and altogether wonderful.

“There’s something else, Crowley. I want you.” There was no hesitation in Aziraphale’s voice this time. No trembling or looking away. “I’ve never wanted anyone else since I was created.”

“I—”

“No. Let me finish.” Aziraphale’s eyes burned into Crowley’s, and the demon fell silent. “I know that, as a demon, you have done your fair share of indulging in the pleasures of the earth.” At this, Crowley dropped his gaze and tried to draw back, but Aziraphale wouldn’t let him go. “I do not, nor will I ever pass judgement on you for that. But I need to know— will you be mine? Only mine?”

“Can I speak now?” Crowley’s voice was soft and teasing, but his eyes were serious.

“… Yes.”

“I would always have been happy to be yours. All you needed to do was ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to write this fic that it's taking up WAYYYY more of my time that I thought it would. It's a great feeling to be writing creatively again, and I really hope y'all enjoy it. I am (as this chapter shows lol) more than happy to take suggestions, comments, and advice! Thanks for reading!


	3. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Crowley tells Aziraphale that he will be his alone, the angel expects to be summarily seduced once he opens the door to physical interaction. Crowley, however, is terrified of pushing his angel too far too fast. He fights his demonic nature to allow Aziraphale to set the pace.

Aziraphale felt his heart leap into his throat as Crowley spoke the words that he so desperately needed to hear. Crowley was his. No more swallowing his jealousy every time he thought of the demon off seducing men, women, and everyone else to accomplish Hell’s work. No more wondering what was going on when he heard voices in the background when Crowley picked up his phone. Crowley was his. And he wanted to do something about it.

Crowley felt himself melt into Aziraphale’s body as the angel pulled him even closer, the hand on his waist clutching at the dark fabric of his suit. Their lips met again, and when Aziraphale deepened the kiss and ran his hand through Crowley’s hair, tugging just the slightest bit, the demon barely stopped himself from letting out a low moan. He couldn’t afford to scare his angel off— and that meant letting him take the lead. Had he not cared to exercise self-restraint, torturous as it was, he would have had the angel pinned to one of his well-organized bookcases by now.

His resolve was further tested when Aziraphale turned his head to kiss him on the jaw, then just below it, trailing lingering kisses down his neck. His breath caught in his throat, and his hands briefly clenched, grabbing at Aziraphale’s cream-colored vest.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s skin, his voice laced with something warm and heavy. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly, love. As all right… as a demon can get.” Crowley did his best to keep his voice steady, but his breath was coming less easily to him. Aziraphale’s hand on his waist moved a little lower, leaving a trail of warmth as it went. The angel’s kissing became nibbling and sucking as he gently ran his hand over Crowley’s ass. The demon felt his cock begin to twitch in interest, and swallowed hard.

“Then I imagine you wouldn’t mind if I continue?”

“I’d mind more,” Crowley said huskily, craning his neck back to allow his angel more access, “if you stopped.”

At this, Aziraphale bit him lightly, firmly grabbing Crowley’s ass as he did so. The demon let out a gasp and shuddered before he could catch himself. The angel moaned softly into his neck and released him, pulling back to look him in the eye. The color rising in the demon’s cheeks gave him intense satisfaction, but something was wrong.

“Angel…” Crowley muttered, looking at the floor, “I thought I asked you not to stop.”

“No, you gave me one of your snarky comebacks. And you’re holding back. I have never known you to be so… passive.”

“You’ve never done this with me before,” the demon said simply, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He was embarrassed that his attempt to let the angel set the pace had been so obvious.

“So you’re saying that this is… how you like it? I read up on these things, of course, and I had an idea of how you might react if we…” Aziraphale’s face, which had already been quite flushed, grew redder. “…I was wrong?”

Crowley grappled for an answer. All his long life, he had been the seducer. The dominant force. He had followed where someone else led only once, and that had gotten him kicked out of Heaven. But his angel was different. He was terrified that he would push Aziraphale too far too fast… And it wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ enjoy himself in a different role. Not if Aziraphale was the one in the driver’s seat.

“Books can’t teach you everything, love. I was having a great time. Don’t worry about that,” Crowley grinned wolfishly and pulled the angel close again to give him a quick kiss. “There… are you satisfied that I’m okay with this?”

“If you say it, it must be true. Demons are, after all, known for their honesty.”

“If certain angels can be skilled at seduction,” Crowley leaned in to purr into Aziraphale’s ear, “perhaps I can tell the truth once in a great while. Now, Angel… what do you want?”

“You, Crowley. Upstairs.” Aziraphale spoke with the directness of someone who wants to get an embarrassing truth out into the open as quickly as possible.

“Upstairs, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Lead the way, then, Mr. Fell.” Before he let the angel go, Crowley kissed him softly on the ear. Aziraphale giggled a little nervously and took Crowley’s hand. Above the bookshop, Aziraphale kept a small bedroom (for appearances, he would have said several days ago), and it was here that he led the demon. There was soft orange light for a streetlamp coming through the window, and neither of them made a motion to turn on the lamp by the bedside.

Aziraphale walked to the far side of the bed and stretched himself out on it. Crowley had a moment to appreciate the angel’s form silhouetted against the window.

“Would you join me?”

“Of course, Zira. Just taking in the view.” This earned an embarrassed laugh from the vicinity of the bed, and Crowley reminded himself not to come on too strong. He slid himself gracefully onto the empty side of the bed, rolling over to meet his angel’s eyes, which shone despite the dim light.

“Lay on your back.” Aziraphale sounded unsure of himself, but Crowley was happy to oblige. He was already beginning to enjoy being told what to do.

Aziraphale propped himself on one elbow, facing the demon, and let his other hand begin to trail up and down Crowley’s body. Crowley closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the pillow, relishing the sensation. The angel explored him ever so gently, over and over— and avoided the place he wanted to be touched the most. His skin became almost feverish under his clothes, and goosebumps broke out everywhere Aziraphale’s hand went. Crowley’s breath began to speed up, and he opened his eyes to see Aziraphale staring intently at his face.

“Beautiful.” The angel whispered fervently.

Crowley said nothing— he didn’t quite trust his voice.

“I have always thought you were the most beautiful of all creations under the sun,” the angel continued. “May I see you in full?” His hand continued to stroke the demon as he spoke, moving toward his upper thigh. “May I remove your clothes?”

Crowley nodded emphatically. He expected Aziraphale to miracle them away, leaving him suddenly exposed. But the angel, after bringing his hand up to graze it against his cheek, began to help him out of his suit jacket. Crowley laid back down, still speechless.

Aziraphale unbuttoned the top of the demon’s shirt, pressing a kiss to the newly-revealed skin. The angel pulled himself on top of Crowley, straddling him, and began to work on the other buttons, pausing every once in a while to lavish every part of the demon’s abdomen with loving attention. Around the third button down, Crowley found himself beginning to lose his self-control. Never in his life had he been undressed with such _intention._ And the feeling of his angel on top of him— occasionally shifting, rubbing his ass against the place where his cock strained to be free of his clothing— was overwhelming. He began to grasp at the sheets on either side of him, trying desperately not to make some kind of embarrassing noise or buck his hips.

The angel shifted downward as he reached the last button and gently pulled the shirt open. He gazed at Crowley, devouring every inch of him with his eyes.

“You are incredible, my dear. Absolutely gorgeous.” He bent to kiss the skin just above the waistband of Crowley’s pants while he made quick work of the belt, button, and zipper below. Aziraphale drew his nails gently down Crowley’s sides once he was finished, and the demon gasped as his body broke out in goosebumps everywhere at once.

“May I?” the angel asked, his voice thick and deeper than usual.

“Please…” Crowley breathed. His golden eyes were filled with a desperation that kindled a fire in Aziraphale’s own.

This time, Aziraphale _did_ miracle away Crowley’s clothes, leaving him naked as the day he first slithered out of the earth. He moved to sit beside the prone demon, stroking every part of him with one hand. Crowley felt incredibly… _seen._ But it wasn’t uncomfortable. The reverence with which the angel touched his body made him feel safe despite the vulnerability of his position. And when the angel’s hand finally made its way toward his cock and stopped, he held his breath in anticipation, gazing intently at his angel— his love.

“Angel… touch me,” he begged in a broken voice, bringing a shaking hand up to cup Aziraphale’s face. He thought he would discorporate if he had to ask again. Then, when he felt his shaft suddenly stroked by the softest of hands, he thought he would discorporate anyway. He moaned unashamedly, the hand he had placed on Aziraphale’s face dropping to grip the sheets. He could control himself no longer.

The angel maintained eye-contact with Crowley as he slowly brought his hand around to grip the demon’s length.

“I want to hear you, my love,” Aziraphale nearly growled, beginning to move his hand up and down. “Your desire was never something I wanted you to hold back from me.”

_He read me again,_ Crowley thought through a haze of lust. _I can’t hide from him._ And then, clearer: _I don’t_ want _to hide from him._ He felt a pressure beginning to build in his lower abdomen, and heat rose to his face as Aziraphale worked him a little faster.

“Aziraphale…” he murmured his angel’s name like a prayer. “I wanted to… _ah…_ I just wanted to respect— _fuck!”_ He began to thrust into Aziraphale’s hand in his need, chasing the pleasure his angel was giving him. He gave up on finishing the thought, hoping that the angel understood.

He must have, because he miracled some wonderfully slick substance into his hand and used it to coat Crowley’s cock while he stroked him, causing the demon to arch his back and whimper.

“Angel! Oh, _Aziraphale_! I’m gonna… I—”

“Come for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed between clenched teeth as he watched the demon he loved begin to fall apart in his hands.

Crowley, his hand coming up to grip Aziraphale’s free one, did as he was bid, calling his angel’s name over and over until his body stilled and his orgasm was through. Aziraphale lowered himself to lay beside the demon, holding him tightly.

“I love you, Crowley. And I understand. Thank you for all the patience you have with me. You would fight every fibre of your nature just to keep me from feeling overwhelmed. But you don’t need to, my dear. You never need to. I’ve loved you exactly as you are for 6,000 years.”

Crowley wrapped his arms tightly around his angel, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He chuckled a little. “If that’s what I get for holding back, I may want to try it again.”

“You could always see what you get for _not_ holding back…”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Well, _you_ still haven’t gotten any proper attention. Got any energy left, Angel?”

“Plenty,” Aziraphale breathed, lifting his head to kiss Crowley, and thanking God that he didn’t have anywhere to go in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally hit smut territory! Hooray! I've never written anything like this, so I hope it flows well. I had a very good time writing this chapter, and I hope you have a good time reading it! Thanks again!


	4. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gives Aziraphale a new experience, and takes it just far enough. A lamp explodes. Shit gets a little kinky.

“Good. Because I want to have you in every way I can tonight.” Crowley chuckled darkly as his angel sucked in a quick breath, starting a little in his arms. “How’s that for not holding back?”

“That’s… That sounds more like the Crowley I know, I’ll admit.” The slightest bit of anxiety paled the color of Aziraphale’s voice, and Crowley quickly shifted so that they were looking into each other’s eyes again.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Angel. Of course you don’t. I’m sorry— I got caught up in—”

“Crowley. Shh.” The angel reached up to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. The demon’s hasty backtracking and apologies subsided, and his face slowly smoothed back over. “I want you as you are. Sexual appetites included. It’s only… I’ve never done any of this before. I’ve never even had an _orgasm_.”

“You’re kidding… I kinda figured you were a virgin, but _never_? Not even by yourself?”

“I didn’t see the need for it.”

“Didn’t see the _need_? What’s your excuse for eating, then?” Crowley looked almost offended. Masturbating was one of his favorite parts of having a corporeal form.

“I like food. And I like to have excuses to see you.” Aziraphale said the second sentence with more than a little sheepishness.

“I think you’ll like this, too, if you give it a chance. And you’ll get to see me the whole time.” Crowley winked, causing a flush to creep up Aziraphale’s face. The angel had found it easy enough to push through his nerves to give Crowley pleasure— he had rather enjoyed it. But thinking about the shoe being on the other foot made him unbearably anxious. He knew how it all worked, of course. One didn’t spend 6,000 years on Earth among humans without learning _that._ But it all came down to control. Aziraphale didn’t know how he would react to something so new. Crowley _had_ given him the control he needed, though, when he thought about it. Crowley had lain naked and vulnerable before him, letting him do anything he wanted. And had given him the ultimate sign of surrender…

Thinking about Crowley coming at his command made him take a deep breath, steady himself, and lean in to kiss the demon deeply.

“All right, my dear,” he murmured, smoothing a hand down Crowley’s stomach and miracling away the remnants of his previous orgasm. “Please… show me what all the fuss is about.”

The demon grinned, and pulled Aziraphale on top of him again with a chuckle. He gently guided the angel’s head down so that he could kiss him— lightly at first, then with mounting passion. Aziraphale moaned when he felt Crowley drag his teeth against his bottom lip and grab a fistful of his hair.

Quite suddenly, the demon exerted some of his hidden strength and flipped them both, rolling across the bed so that Aziraphale was beneath him, legs still spread around his waist. The angel made a small sound of surprise into his mouth, which quickly turned into a whimper when Crowley ground his hips against him.

The demon moved his mouth to Aziraphale’s ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth and sucking lightly. He moved his hips again, slower this time, and the angel’s legs tightened around him. He could feel Aziraphale’s hardening cock through his trousers, rubbing against his own, and he groaned into the angel’s ear. Crowley moved his lips back to his angel’s, relishing their softness. This was right. All of this felt like it could have been the Plan all along.

“Angel,” Crowley panted, breaking the kiss, “Can I undress you?”

“You’ve been at a disadvantage long enough, I suppose,” Aziraphale managed, smiling at the demon’s outraged expression.

“How in Hell are you still coherent enough to sass me?” Crowley spluttered, having thought his ministrations would have had more of an effect. Then, he had a sudden thought that made his blood run hot. “Aziraphale… when I’m done with you, you won’t be able to get a word out. Mark me on that.”

The angel’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard, but he felt no anxiety. Simply anticipation. He met Crowley’s eyes with an unwavering stare.

“You had better go ahead and undress me, then, my dear.”

Crowley felt more heat flood through him, realizing that his angel was going to match him move for move, just as they did in their drunken debates. This was more than he could have hoped for. He bent back down to kiss Aziraphale on the forehead, reaching his hands in between them. The angel was still fully clothed, and Crowley frowned as he struggled with the complicated series of buttons on his vest.

“Some of these don’t even need to be there,” he growled petulantly, picking at a decorative button. “ _None_ of this needs to be here.” He ran a hand over Aziraphale’s body, and the clothes appeared in a neatly-folded pile in an armchair across the dimly-lit room.

Aziraphale smiled briefly at the care his friend had taken with his treasured clothing… and then noticed all at once how _naked_ he was. Crowley had never seen him naked. He looked to the demon’s face, suddenly desperate for approval. He liked his corporeal form, but was it good enough for someone who had probably seen a good quarter of the human race without a scrap of clothing on?

Crowley didn’t see the angel staring at him. His eyes dilated, like a predatory animal’s sometimes do before it strikes. Then he was all quick, urgent kisses and exploring hands.

Aziraphale, taken completely by surprise, gasped and gripped Crowley’s head with one hand as the demon kissed him furiously up and down his neck and across his chest. One of the demon’s hands ran up his thigh, causing him to hiss as though _he_ was the serpent. 

“You’re so… _delicious,_ Angel,” Crowley said between kisses, bringing his hands to rest on the angel’s hips as he made his way lower. Aziraphale moaned shakily, his eyes fluttering closed, filled again with that sense of heady anticipation. “Your body is perfect, just how I knew it would be.”

“T-thank you, Crowley…” The angel’s voice sounded quite a bit higher than usual, and Crowley barely suppressed a satisfied grin. Not that Aziraphale would have seen it. His eyes were shut tight, all his attention focused on the new sensations. Crowley stopped just before he reached the place he really wanted to kiss— his angel’s cock looked just as perfect as the rest of him, and he was eager to find out what sorts of noises he could draw out of Aziraphale when he set to work on it with his hands and mouth— but he had to be sure all was well.

“Zira…” Crowley was surprised at how low his own voice had dropped.

“Yes. To whatever you’re about to do, my love, _yes._ ”

Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hips, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He lowered his head to lick a slow, wet stripe up the back of Aziraphale’s cock. The angel shuddered.

“Ohhh…” His eyes screwed up even tighter, and Crowley considered asking him to keep them open and watch him work. But that was an idea for another day. All he wanted his angel to do was enjoy what he had to give. He licked again, even slower than the first time, allowing his tongue to fork at the head and wrap it in wet heat. Aziraphale nearly sat bolt upright at that, but Crowley gently pushed him back down, saying nothing.

The demon finally took the head of his angel’s cock into his mouth, licking around it, savoring the somewhat sweet fluid that had gathered at its opening.

“You taste ssso good,” Crowley hissed. He had replaced his mouth with a hand that wrapped around Aziraphale’s shaft, applying pressure, but not moving… yet.

“You… you _feel_ so good.” At this, Crowley took the angel’s head back into his mouth, keeping his grip on the shaft. He began to move mouth and hand up and down in tandem.

The lamp on the bedside table abruptly shone golden light on them both. Aziraphale snapped it off, hand trembling.

“Sorry, I think that was— ahhhh— I think that was me.”

Crowley rose to kiss his angel, hand still working, thumb rubbing where head met shaft. Aziraphale moaned loudly into the demon’s mouth and brought his hands up to grip his shoulders.

Crowley broke the kiss, muttering, “I don’t care if we take down the whole London power grid.” He sped his hand up, and Aziraphale arched his back against the mattress, letting out high-pitched whimpers with each stroke. They morphed into a continuous, full-throated moan, and the angel was certain he was about to experience something akin to discorporation.

Crowley stopped, growling a single word: “No.”

“W… what?”

“You’re not going to come yet.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale should have been embarrassed by the way he dragged the demon’s name out into a whine, but he was beginning to lose any sense of shame. “Why?”

“Because, as you’ve just demonstrated… you can still speak.”

“But—”

“You’ve waited 6,000 years for an orgasm. Surely you can take a few more minutesss…”

Aziraphale had a very hard time disagreeing with the demon when he hissed like that. He no longer cared about any semblance of control, or his own inexperience. He just wanted Crowley… and this was Crowley. He nodded silently, feeling his pulse throughout his entire body.

“Good, Angel. Very good. It’ll feel so much better when you’ve had to wait for it.” The words of praise and encouragement made the angel’s breath catch. Crowley noticed, and filed the reaction away under the heading _Possible Angelic Kinks,_ a section of his mental filing cabinet that had been steadily growing throughout the evening. Having done this, he turned his attention back to Aziraphale’s straining cock, earning a low moan from his angel.

“Crowley…”

Crowley had never heard his name invoked so absolutely _filthily_ before. The sound of it cut straight to the core of him, and settled, blazing, in his stomach. He redoubled his efforts, removing his hand and taking all of his angel’s cock into his throat in one swift motion. It fit perfectly, and he hummed around it in satisfaction.

Aziraphale shuddered. Digging a hand into Crowley’s auburn hair, he did something the demon would never have bet on in a million years— he cursed.

“Oh… oh, _fuck._ ” The lamp beside the bed turned on again of its own volition, brighter than before. Neither cared enough to turn it off.

Crowley once again moved to kiss his angel deeply, replacing his mouth with his hand. The sudden increase in friction caused Aziraphale to whimper into the demon’s mouth, and Crowley bit his lower lip gently in reply. He sped his strokes up. The lamp grew still brighter.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Crowley murmured as he bent to suck at the skin where Aziraphale’s neck met his shoulder. The angel could only moan in reply. “Such a good, obedient angel.”

Aziraphale threw his head back against the pillow, hips rising to meet Crowley’s hand.

“Aaaaah, please! Crowley, I am _begging_ you,”

“No.” The strokes didn’t stop this time, but they slowed. “I didn’t ask for you to beg. Maybe someday,” Crowley smirked, “but not this time. Let’s try again.” He returned his mouth to the angel’s cock, and cupped the balls below in one hand, massaging them gently. The new sensation made Aziraphale squirm in pleasure.

“I… I didn’t know those would…” he trailed off, moaning, unable to put together the rest of the sentence. A deep ache that was both satisfying and unsatisfied began to build inside him.

Crowley realized with only a little bit of disappointment that the angel had finally given him what he’d asked for. He could no longer talk back. Taking the angel deep into his throat, he hummed again, satisfied. The angel’s legs began to shake, and a constant stream of utterly broken sounds poured from his lips. Some of them sounded vaguely like Crowley’s name, but he couldn’t quite be sure.

The demon positioned himself so that he could stroke Aziraphale with his hand and whisper into his ear.

“Oh, my angel. I want you to come for me, you beautiful thing. My obedient, patient angel. You’ve earned this.” He bit lightly at the skin below Aziraphale’s ear, and the angel cried out. His whole body convulsed as the bedside lamp shattered in a shower of sparks. Across the street, a tea kettle spontaneously boiled all the water inside of it despite being nowhere near a range.

Crowley stroked his angel through his orgasm, entranced, watching Aziraphale’s face as he experienced something wonderful and new. It was somewhat like watching the angel try an exquisite food for the first time, only Crowley was glad he didn’t make _quite_ this much noise in public restaurants.

Aziraphale began to shake uncontrollably, and Crowley quickly snapped away both the mess on his stomach and the mess on the floor from the exploded lamp. He drew the angel in, wrapping warm, slender arms around him tightly enough to stop the tremors.

“Aziraphale… my love… I’m here.” He spoke in a voice that he’d never heard before. A voice that sounded of soft summers and absolute certainties.

Aziraphale buried his face in the demon’s chest, saying nothing.

“Are you all right?”

“I can’t _believe_ I never tried that before!” the angel blurted out, unburying his face as he did so. He scooted up so that they were face to face, noses almost touching. “How on _Earth_ do humans get anything done? Knowing that they can just… _do_ that?”

Crowley chuckled at his irrepressible angel, relieved. A babbling Aziraphale was an all-right Aziraphale.

“Makes it all make a bit more sense, yeah?”

“Rather…”

“Want to do it again?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Perhaps in a few moments. For now… I’m very much enjoying being able to speak again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love these two. I'm not quite sure where the fic will go from here, so if you have ideas, drop 'em below! I definitely want to continue. Thanks, as always, for taking the time to read this.


	5. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds himself utterly shaken when he experiences possible consequences of he and Aziraphale becoming lovers. Aziraphale finds it hard to understand.

Aziraphale asked questions that Crowley tried his best to answer for the better part of an hour. How certain sex acts worked, how humans found other humans to do them with, and what it felt like to do things with one of the other sets of genitalia (Crowley had experimented with having a different set of parts a few centuries ago, and Aziraphale was very curious as to how all that had worked)— it was like giving “the talk” to a child on the cusp of puberty who, instead of bashfully hurrying through the discussion in embarrassment, asked more questions than one could possibly know the answer to. Indeed, it seemed that the angel had plenty of _book_ knowledge, but nothing quite replaced the salacious details of personal experience.

Slowly, the questions became murmured fragments. The angel’s eyes began to flutter closed every few minutes, popping open again when he thought of something else to ask, but eventually sliding shut once more. His body relaxed into Crowley’s. The demon smoothed his almost-silvery curls of hair back from his face, smiling a little when this didn’t prompt any reaction. Aziraphale was asleep.

This wasn’t something the angel did often, as far as Crowley knew. He himself had taken naps for years at a time under extreme emotional stress… But Aziraphale was an angel. Ever watchful. He had been _created_ to stand guard. Sleep just wasn’t in his nature. But tonight, he had done a few other things Crowley had assumed weren’t in his nature. The demon’s smile widened. This was actually happening— it wasn’t one of the daydreams he made up to pass the time, and it wasn’t wishful thinking. He was holding a sleeping angel in his arms, and the angel in question _loved_ him. He hadn’t had to change anything about himself to “earn” Aziraphale’s affection. This was the thing that surprised him the most.

_How long can this realistically last?_ The thought was unproductive, but he entertained it anyway. He turned it over and over in his mind until he, too, fell asleep.

Crowley’s eyes opened to an empty bed. He sat up slowly, looking around the room. It wasn’t light yet, but there was an odd red glow coming through the window. He heard some kind of chanting, too, and swung his lanky form out of bed to see what all the fuss was about. He had no more peered out of the window when he dropped to the floor.

“ _Shit,_ ” he hissed.

“We know you’re in there, Crowley,” called a voice from below. Some demon he had never bothered to remember the name of. But he knew their voice. All demons knew each other’s voices. “We just want to _talk._ ”

Crowley, eyes wide, remained silent and prone on the floor. Maybe they’d go away if they thought they had the wrong very-easily-identifiable bookshop…

“We’re going to give you ten seconds to respond. If you don’t, we’ll… rough the angel up a little.”

Now Crowley could hear the words the others (presumably demons) were chanting. _Burn him up, burn him up…_ Did they mean _his_ angel?

“Ten, nine, eight…”

He stood upright faster than he had previously thought possible, and began to struggle with the window latch in his panic. He finally got it open, and waved an arm frantically to get the attention of the crowd below. A crowd, he saw, that was not only made up of demons. There were a few angels in the throng, as well, and they looked _pissed._

“Oi, all right then,” he shouted, hoping he sounded more nonchalant than he felt. “You’ve woken me up from a right lovely nap, you have. What’s the meaning of all this? M’birthday’s not for another few months!” He lapsed into the cocky, offhand manner of speech he reserved for dealing with people he didn’t particularly like or respect. He saw Aziraphale caught between two nasty specimens, unconscious, and he had to suppress a wave of despair. How had they gotten him?

“What you’ve done tonight is forbidden, and we intend to punish you both for it.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. _How did they…_ Anger and (oh, how he hated to admit it) shame welled up inside of him. But there was still hope.

“Didn’t we tell you lot to leave us alone? Thought we’d made it clear that we can’t be destroyed as easily as you thought.”

“Maybe not destroyed… But you can still be hurt. Over and over again, if need be. Maybe that’s even better.” The demon below motioned to one of the brutes holding Aziraphale. He slapped the angel awake. He came to with a yelp, struggling against his captors to no avail.

“C-Crowley! Help!” The demon slapped him again, hard. Crowley gripped the windowsill tight in helpless rage.

“Angel!” He had to do something. _Anything._

The voice from below spoke up again.

“Come down to the street, Crowley, and face your sentence.”

“With pleasure,” he spat, turning from the window.

He emerged from the door of the bookshop to jeers and decidedly unfriendly faces. He was pushed through the crowd to stand beside Aziraphale, and given his own two gigantic demons to hold his arms. He didn’t struggle. He knew that brute strength wouldn’t win the day (or the night) in his case. All he cared about was seeing his angel safe.

The demon ( _Semiazas,_ Crowley suddenly remembered, _their name is Semiazas)_ turned to face the crowd.

“The demon Crowley and the principality Aziraphale stand accused of committing… an abomination.” The demons in the crowd applauded, a few whistling in lewd appreciation, while the angels merely averted their eyes in disgust.

“The powers that be have decided that you shall both be demoted.”

“D-demoted? What does that—” Crowley heard Aziraphale begin beside him.

“Silence, defiler!” shouted one of the angels.

“Let’s find out, hmm?” Semiazas purred, and stalked over to touch Crowley on the snake-shaped mark just below his ear— his Mark of the Fallen. It disappeared, and Crowley instantly felt strength flowing out of his body. His eyes closed instinctively as pain flared where his wings connected to his body. A burning, much like he had felt when he had fallen, permeated his entire being. He let out a choked scream and collapsed, the hulking demons on either side of him the only thing keeping him upright.

“Crowley! Crowley, are you all right?”

Crowley tried to answer his angel, but the pain continued. Tears streamed from his eyes, and that was when he knew something was horribly wrong. Demons didn’t cry. Demons _couldn’t_ cry.

“What… what have you done to me?” Crowley asked once the pain had subsided enough to allow him to speak.

“Demoted you. In that case, it means you’re mortal. As human as human can be. Demons are often seen as lower than humanity, but… at least we’re immortal. We’ve got a certain amount of _oomph._ Not you. Not anymore.” Semiazas laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound, and it made Crowley want to rip their throat out. He finally opened his eyes to retort, and saw the demon moving toward Aziraphale. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at Semiazas, however.

“Your _eyes,_ Crowley… What’s happened?”

“What?”

“They’re not your eyes anymore. They’ve changed.”

Semiazas interrupted, “Your turn, Angel,” they spat the word as they laid a hand on Aziraphale’s forehead. Light suddenly burst from his chest, and the angel screamed. It was a sound that caused fresh tears to pour from Crowley’s now completely human eyes.

“ _No!”_ Crowley shouted, thrashing in an attempt to free himself and stop what was happening. He had seen this before. He had _done_ this before. Aziraphale was falling. Fire erupted where his wings would have been had he had them out, creating a burning outline.

The former angel opened his eyes wide in shock and pain, and Crowley saw that they were completely white with no pupil whatsoever. So white that they seemed to _glow._ The white flowed from Aziraphale’s eyes, filling the street. It turned into a flood that swept the entire crowd away, burying Crowley until he went limp, floating in a sea of unforgiving brightness. 

Crowley’s eyes opened once again to a dark room and a warm body beside him. He looked around, disoriented, prompting a sleepy sound of protest from Aziraphale, who had been quite comfortable.

 _Aziraphale!_ Crowley’s overwrought mind shouted at him, demanding that he make sure the angel was still there, and still just as annoyingly holy as ever. He stood and shook Aziraphale awake, trying to slow his panicked breathing.

“Mmm… What is it, my dear?”

“Show me your eyes. Your wings.”

“Crowley, love… I was sleeping. We can play with my wings in the morning if you _really_ want to, but I was having the most lovely dream.”

“This is _important,_ Angel. I dreamed, too. I think. I have to be sure.”

Aziraphale rolled over and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, Crowley turned on the recently-reconstructed bedside lamp.  
“Ah! Crowley! Warn me first.”

“Sorry, love. Please, open your eyes for me again.”

Azirphale did, slowly. Crowley visibly relaxed as he saw that his angel’s eyes were more or less the same as they had always been.

“And your wings?”

“I don’t know if the ceiling is high enough… But if you insist.” Aziraphale stood and slowly extended his beautiful, spotlessly white wings, being very careful not to knock anything over (especially the lamp, which he still felt sorry for), and Crowley sat down on the bed, satisfied.

“Thank you…” he sighed, practically collapsing into a prone position few would consider ‘comfortable,’ but which seemed to suit him just fine.

“What _is_ the matter?” Aziraphale asked, folding his wings back into their own dimension. He sat beside the demon, and took his hand. It was still trembling.

“I had a dream… We got caught.”

“Doing what?”

“Y’know…. _Caught._ They found out.”

“Oh. I can see how that would be distressing. But why check my eyes? My wings?”

Crowley told him about the dream, down to the very last detail. A few days ago, he would have kept such things to himself. Nobody knew what bothered Crowley, and that was the best way to keep people from pushing your buttons. But Aziraphale was different. He could trust his angel. When he finished, Aziraphale pursed his lips momentarily in thought.

“Well,” he said simply, “At least that didn’t actually happen.”

Crowley remained silent, stunned at how little his dream had affected the angel.

“Would you like me to hold you? I’d really like to get back to sleep, if you don’t mind.” Aziraphale pulled the covers over himself, waiting for an answer.

 _What I’d_ really _like is to talk about this,_ Crowley thought to himself. _I need to make a decision._ But what he said instead was this: “Nah, I’ll be all right. Just a dream. Enjoy yours.” He snapped the light off, and put a hand on over his eyes.

 _Damn it. Why do I do this to myself?_ It had been hard for him to open up, yes, and Aziraphale had, unknowingly, slammed the door back in his face. But he could have pushed it. He still could. But he didn’t. He laid next to his angel, turning question after question over in his mind. Was he ready to face the consequences if anyone truly _did_ find out that they were together? Was he ready for _Aziraphale_ to face them? What if Heaven or Hell (or, even worse, _both_ ) discovered that they’d been tricked into leaving them alone? Again, the worst question of all came to his mind.

_How long can this realistically last?_

When Aziraphale woke up the next morning following a pleasant dream about a field of strawberries, the demon was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time writing over the last few days. I've been in a tough spot mentally, and I'm afraid it came out in the story. Hopefully things get better soon (for both myself and the boys!). Thanks, as always, for reading!


	6. Heaven for Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes some time to think. The answer he's looking for isn't his to give.

Crowley had awoken about an hour before dawn. His angel had still been snoring (though he had never heard a more beautiful snore in his life, it had made staying asleep difficult), so he took a moment to simply watch Aziraphale, observing his simple beauty at a time when he couldn’t be admonished for staring. The doubts of the night before had still pulled at his mind. He didn’t want to let them get in the way of something beautiful, of course, but Crowley had never in his life known things to go the way he wanted them to.

So he found himself in the streets of London, watching the sun rise as he wandered aimlessly. London. It would have been no more important to him than any of the other places he’d kept residence over the millennia, had it not been for a certain angel he’d come to love. He saw memories on every corner, it seemed.

_I have to get out of this town,_ he thought. There was no use trying to think clearly in a place like this with its constant reminders of what he’d be losing if it all went pear-shaped.

_But Aziraphale would be so upset. The last thing I want is to go away, make a decision, and then come back to find it’s been made for me because I broke his heart._ It was all too much _thinking_ for Crowley. Being in love with someone and having them love him _back_ was so much more complicated than he had ever imagined it would be. And not just because of the possibility of getting caught and subjected to Hell knows what punishment. Crowley had gone into the business of wooing Aziraphale because he had felt it impossible _not_ to— not because he had felt ready. And now that the dice were cast and the cards were down, playing the game in the first place seemed to him a hazardous step for him to have taken.

Crowley shook his head fiercely, doing his best to Etch-a-Sketch his thoughts back into blank obedience. When they persisted, he growled under his breath and walked faster.

_Wait._ He paused mid-stride, somehow managing not to topple over. The man walking behind him huffed impatiently and passed him, giving him a stern look. But Crowley cared for nothing, save for the thought in his head.

 _What if I just… talked to Aziraphale about this? He may have dismissed my worries last night, but that could have been because I didn’t say they were_ my _worries. I only said they were a dream._

Crowley turned on his heel and hurried back to the bookshop, a place he had already begun to use the word “home” for in his mind, though only subconsciously. He was completely unaware of the fact that this was the first time since the Fall that he had decided to talk a problem out immediately instead of running, fighting, or avoiding it first.

When Aziraphale awoke, the demon was gone. He reached out, seeking the lithe form of the first being he had ever shared a bed with, and found only cold, rumpled sheets. After that, waking up was much easier. An icicle of panic pushed though his chest as he searched his memories for any reason why Crowley shouldn’t have been still lying beside him.

_I wasn’t good. He got bored of me already. He changed his mind. I imagined the whole thing._

The panic turned to despair. The weight of it almost felt like it was pressing him back into the mattress. He had begun to make plans to stay there for the rest of the coming century when he noticed something odd. The smell of strawberries from his previous dream hadn’t left the air. He sniffed curiously, hope gathering in his heart. He began to hear something from downstairs, as well, and the hope bloomed in full.

“ _Dining at the Ritz, we’ll meet at nine precisely… I will pay the bill, you taste the wine_ …” Crowley’s voice, singing Queen’s “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.” Aziraphale’s face broke into a sunny smile. He crept out of bed and opened the bedroom door as quietly as he could. Hearing Crowley sing was one of his favorite things, and he didn’t want the demon to stop, should he be noticed. He managed to make it down the stairs, but couldn’t help but laugh at what he saw at the bottom of them.

Crowley had decided to make breakfast. Aziraphale kept a small kitchen in the bookshop, but it was mostly for cocoa and cookie-making purposes, as he preferred to dine out. The demon had made use of the kitchen, and made a complete mess of himself. Flour coated the front of his black shirt, and a slice of strawberry was stuck to his cheek. He was doing his best to make what bore a slight resemblance to strawberry pancakes. He turned when he heard Aziraphale’s chuckle, smiling ruefully.

“Never could get the hang of pancakes. Lovely things, but something about flipping them properly eludes me. Close enough to crepes, I hope?”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed, absolutely certain he would be in love with the demon in front of him for the rest of time. “Thank you. They look wonderful so far. Would you like some help?”

“Not on your life, Angel. Sit down. I want to make you breakfast.” Crowley’s face became a study in mock severity, and Aziraphale did as he was told, chuckling. However, when Crowley went to flip the next pancake, the angel waved his hand under the table and performed a surprisingly powerful miracle to allow it to go smoothly.

“Well! Wouldja look at that!” Crowley exclaimed proudly, waving his spatula in the air. A small gob of batter flicked onto the table, and Aziraphale eyed it disapprovingly until it disappeared out of shame.

Crowley presented the pancakes a few minutes later. As he bent down to sit the plate in front of him, Aziraphale gently swiped the strawberry slice off of his cheek.

“How did _that_ get there?” Crowley wondered aloud. He ceased wondering when the angel lifted himself up to kiss him where the strawberry had been.

“Oh, you’ve been like that since I came downstairs,” Aziraphale said teasingly.

“Oi. Shut up and eat your pancakes.”

Aziraphale swore for the rest of his existence that he had never tasted anything so marvelous.

“Let’s talk, Angel,” Crowley said when the meal was over. He reached across the table for Aziraphale’s hand. The warm contact steadied him.

“All right… What about?”

“That dream I had last night. I think it’s a… fear of mine.” Crowley, being a demon, had long dealt with fear. _Admitting_ to it, however, was a whole other matter. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid that you’ll be taken from me. Or I from you. Or we’ll be caught. Separated. Punished.” His eyes became more and more snake-like as he went on, a sign of stress Aziraphale had learned to recognize. The angel squeezed his hand.

“We might.”

This was an answer that Crowley had been completely unprepared for. Simple acceptance. He stayed silent, willing Aziraphale to say something else. Something to make his answer seem a little less… nihilistic.

“We might,” he repeated, “and we might not. We cannot know. We’ve made a choice, and we will face whatever consequences come of it. I can only hope that we can do it… together.” Aziraphale did his best to project all the love and care he felt for the demon across from him through his eyes.

Crowley saw it. Hell, the angel’s eyes nearly _glittered_ with it. Suddenly, the demon knew exactly what would come of “their side.” Not the specifics. Not even whether they _would_ face any punishment. But he knew enough to make the choice to stay. He stood, pulling Aziraphale gently with him by their linked hands. He drew the angel into a kiss that seemed to last forever. And perhaps it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading. I may write some more for these two, we'll see!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Archive! I have never done something like this before, but I am so excited to be sharing my first fanfic with the world! Good Omens inspired me (a gay trans man) in a way that nothing else ever has. The notion of being able to become more than what you were made to be and find love along the way absolutely resonates with me, so I thought I would try contributing to a community I've sat in the back row of for many years. Thanks for reading, angels!


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